Truth
by Sparklefarey16
Summary: What would Kurt be if he couldn't act? Not all is as bright and cheery as it seems... There's a darker side to Kurt Hummel, meant to be seen by no one but himself. angsty with some slight Klaine.


_This is my first discernable attempt at writing angst, and even then I diluted it with a little Wevid humor. I've been having a rough couple of days, and as a result…_

_This happened._

_I suppose there should be warning on this fic, for self-harm and dark themes._

_It certainly isn't like any of my other fics._

* * *

><p>The blade slid through Kurt's pale skin, gliding like a pair of ice skates would through a frozen pond. The cuts were similar as well, shallows gashes, spraying flecks of blood across the path.<p>

It was painless to Kurt. He had endured far worse, for way longer- his tolerance was high, where his self-esteem was low.

"Kurt?"

The muffled voice of the boy's father stopped him, the raised blade dull, glowing in the bathroom's diffusing light.

"I know you have a routine, but it's almost time for you to go, kiddo."

Kurt responded with an answer filled with the appropriate amount of emotion- perky, yet subdued by the fact that he was leaving everything he ever loved behind once more, because he couldn't man up to his fears.

It was only his second week at Dalton and the feelings he was having were the equivalent to those of a person treading water at sea: lost and alone, already tired, even though it'd been a short amount of time. Worst of all, he was already going under, struggling to breathe because of the weights he had tied to his body- the weight of failing, of failing his friends, his parents, his selfishness of taking something precious from them because of his own cowardice. And the struggle to fit in- he already had had a long enough time dealing with the judging looks and peer pressure at McKinley. Now, at his supposed _sanctuary_, he was still supposed to put up with it?

At least back at McKinley, while still being lost at sea, he was in a boat, the S.S Glee Club, if you will, encircled by his friends. So what if the boat was surrounded by a group of vicious, man-eating, football jersey wearing, sharks?

Turning off the tap, the brunette stood in front of the full-length mirror, gazing at the hazy image it presented him. He could see through the condensation, see the stark contrast of the cuts on his thighs against his porcelain skin. Some were long, drawn out, but some were made from short flicks of his wrist, when he just wanted to watch the blood bead across his skin, before it spilled down his legs, leaving a trail of watery blood behind.

His thighs were the only safe place to mutilate- they'd always be covered, no matter if he was in pants, shorts, boxers, _a kilt_. Only he would ever witness them, witness the true ugliness that hid behind designer clothes and an icy attitude.

The countertenor made swift work in the cleaning of the blade. It may have been small and flimsy, but it was very easy to hide in plain sight. He had happened upon them when he was unpacking for Dalton. One of the pedicure items from his set (Mercedes had gotten it for him for Christmas last year) had broken- a callous remover. The blade had filtered down between the crevices of his other products, so when he reached in, it pricked him like a pin.

He'd held his finger up and watched the droplets roll.

* * *

><p>It was a Friday night, but Kurt was too exhausted to make the two hour trek back home, so he opted to stay at Dalton for the weekend, relishing in the peace and quiet- the <em>privacy<em>- of a single dorm.

He was sitting at his desk, twirling a blade between his fingers, watching the edges wink at him whenever they caught the lamplight, when voices jarred him from his thoughts.

"Will you-!"

"-no way!"

"He likes you better!"

"-fine. Geesh!"

A firm knocking made Kurt fumble with his blade, cursing when it caught him on the thumb.

"Hold on!" He called, sucking on the offending finger, shuffling some papers over where the blade had fallen and scrambling to the door.

"Aw, did we interrupt your nappy-wappy time, Kurwt?"

Wes cooed, upon seeing the countertenor with his thumb jammed in his mouth.

"Fuck off!" Kurt grumbled, "I got a papercut, okay?"

He rolled his eyes at Wes' appalled face and David clasping both hands over his mouth in an effort not to laugh. Blaine inspected Kurt's thumb,

"That's actually a pretty deep cut, Kurt. Maybe you should go to the nurse… C'mon, I'll take you!"

Before Kurt could protest, Blaine had an around his shoulders and was leading him away, gingerly holding Kurt's injured hand up.

"They are so precious!" David squealed, clasping his hands together.

Wes stared.

"It's sickening." David deadpanned.

"Well," Wes turned to Kurt's ajar door, "Might as well take advantage of the moment to get what we came for without having to endure the sexually frustrating eyesex that goes on between those two."

The two snooped across the room, poking at the designer clothes that littered every surface and prodding at the piles of paperwork and books that grew in size and quantity once they reached the desk.

"Holy crap! It looks like this place has been overturned by a hurricane!" David whistled, staring at the once pristine desk of Kurt's.

"It'd have to be a _tornado_, David." Wes retorted, "Because nothing is _wet_."

David shoved the Asian, "It's how the saying goes, you idiot! Besides, Hurricane Kurt sounds much better than Tornado Kurt!"

"Don't push me!" Wes growled ramming into David with so much force that he fell face-first into the desk, upturning most of the loose-leaf pages.

"Ow, that hurt- hey!"

"Serves you right, you totally started it." Wes muttered, "Did you find the papers?"

The other council member scoffed, "No, I found out that Kurt's actually a serial killer."

He snatched the music sheets with a sound of triumph, but a twinkle of metal stopped him.

"Uh, Wes, maybe Kurt is a serial killer…"

He held the blade up, swallowing the sudden lump forming in his throat.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure you're okay?" Blaine asked for the sixtieth time that <em>hour<em>.

"Blaine, I'm fine, stop. Go back to your dorm before you get caught for being out so late."

The curly-haired boy shook his head, "No, I'll make sure you get back okay."

They reached Kurt's door and he whipped around, "Great, you're my savior, making sure the boogeyman didn't get me- now shoo!"

Blaine sighed, "Kurt, I know you don't like taking pills-"

"How do you know that?" Kurt barked, tensing up.

The shorter of the two shrugged, "Your dad told me…"

"-but, anyway, I really think you should take them, because you look like you need the sleep they'd provide."

Blaine went to touch the bags under the boy's blue eyes, but his hand faltered when Kurt flinched away, clenching his glasz orbs shut.

"Fine."

The petite boy was tired now; he just wanted to sleep.

_-and never wake up._

Blaine waited in an awkward silence as Kurt took his pajamas into the bathroom to change. Truthfully, it hurt Blaine a little, that Kurt didn't trust the boy enough to change in front of him, but the junior quickly scolded himself, Kurt was probably taunted day in and day out in the locker rooms for gym at McKinley.

Little did Blaine know, that wasn't it at all. Kurt just wanted to make sure no one got a glimpse of his… _secret_, and start asking probing questions.

While Kurt did his nightly moisturizing routine, Blaine tried to strike up a conversation,

"Wow, Kurt, don't you think you're overworking yourself a bit? You're an A student, and your clothes…"

He trailed off as the brunette emerged, glass of water in tow as he threw his head back to swallow the pills.

* * *

><p>The effects were nearly instantaneous, his eyelids drooping and posture slipping as the boy's movements grew sluggish.<p>

Kurt climbed up into his bed, curling into a ball. Blaine's gaze softened, as he pulled the sheets up to tuck Kurt in.

"Hey," he whispered, half-guilty at keeping the obviously tired countertenor awake, "How's your thumb?"

Kurt squirmed, eyes remaining closed, "'m fine, I- you'll think it's stupid…"

"Kurt," Blaine admonished softly, "I won't ever think you're stupid or laugh at you."

He brushed a strand of auburn hair away from the porcelain boy's face, "You can trust me. I care about you _so much_."

The emotion was thick in his voice.

"M' mom, used to- to, kiss my pain away."

Kurt's breath evened out, getting deeper and deeper, "I'm in… so much pain."

The countertenor drifted off, comatose in a medicated sleep, sorrow dripping from his eyes in liquid form.

Blaine caught the tears before they fell; twining his hand in Kurt's injured one. He brought it to his lips, gently pressing at the bandaged thumb.

"I'll kiss it all away for you."

* * *

><p><em>So, that needed to be let out. I apologize if it's terrible. DON'T CUT EVERYBODY. LOVE YOURSELF.<em>

_Yadda yadda._


End file.
